


Broken Glass In The Morning Light

by Anonymous



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When the Collective's hold on Kadara Port begins to crumble, Scott has to decide: is it worth risking his position in the Initiative to aid his ex-lover?





	Broken Glass In The Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> I felt sad that there wasn't more fic for this pairing, so I figured I'd contribute something. Title taken from an MCR song because I'm terrible at thinking up decent ones.

Being aboard the Nexus again made Reyes Vidal’s skin itch. Everything was a touch too perfect, all flawless white and shining chrome. It was impressive, but there was no grit to it; nothing to tether one to the harsh realities of planetside life. He despised and envied it in equal measure.

This joyous celebration that he found himself in the midst of was vastly different from the tense, hostile atmosphere that lived in his memory. It felt like a different place entirely now, well lit and bursting with enthusiastic activity. Friends and strangers, human and alien alike traded greetings and congratulations without reserve. It was quite bizarre.

Reyes leaned against a wall, observing the festivities but remaining apart from it. He sipped lightly from a glass of fine whiskey, feigning nonchalance as Tann’s men—clearly assuming him to be one of Keema’s cronies—monitored his behavior closely. Evfra, at least, had been polite enough to take note of him then immediately pretend he hadn’t. The bright lights and intense scrutiny left Reyes feeling unnervingly exposed. Devoid of a single shadowy crevice to skulk off to, he tried instead to maintain an air of general disinterest in the goings-on.

In spite of his determined aloofness, three separate humans and one very inebriated angara attempted to flirt with him. He pointedly ignored them all. He had eyes for only one person.

Scott Ryder, the savior of Andromeda, who was currently making his rounds of the room, chatting with various ambassadors and members of his own crew. He was all laughs and smiles, politely extracting himself from his throngs of admirers to get to the people who truly mattered to him. He stood tall in spite of the pronounced limp he bore, managing to remain proud and handsome even though he had to feel exhausted. He possessed all the traits of a strong leader despite what his many naysayers believed. Reyes couldn’t tear his eyes away.

They hadn’t been in the same room together since Sloane’s death, and Reyes had somehow forgotten what a strong presence Scott had in spite of his rather guileless nature. He had stopped coming to Kadara almost entirely after playing his unwitting part in helping Reyes obtain it. The few times he had returned was always for a chat with Keema or a quick excursion to the badlands, seeming to prefer acting as though he and Reyes had never crossed paths. 

But perhaps things would be different now that he’d helped save the Meridian. Scott _had_ to understand. No, Reyes wasn’t a good man, but he _was_ capable of acting with integrity. He was willing to fight by Scott’s side for the good of Andromeda as a whole. That had to mean something, even to a man as unbearably self-righteous as Scott Ryder.

After what seemed like ages, Scott finally neared him, walking so close that he couldn’t fail to spot Reyes standing there. Taking a fortifying drink of whiskey, Reyes pushed off from the wall and opened his mouth to offer a polite greeting, but Scott walked straight by him without a glance. Abandoning any attempt to be suave, he took half-a-step forward and called over the din:

“Ryder!”

He held his breath when Scott paused, shoulders hunching up to his ears and slowly turned around to look at him. His face, which had always been so open and earnest, was now completely devoid of emotion, unreadable in a way that he’d never been to Reyes before. His clenched hands and jaw betrayed his discomfort, however.

All the words Reyes had planned to utilize as a way of smoothing things over between them disappeared. An apology almost came pouring out of his mouth in their stead, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t why he’d come here, and it would have been a lie anyway.

“It’s good to see you,” he said rather lamely.

Scott cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly from foot-to-foot and refusing to meet his gaze. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Vidal. We may not have succeeded if not for your aid.”

Reyes was taken aback by his stiff, formal tone and didn’t have time to formulate a reply before Scott had turned on his heel and begun marching off again. Without thinking, Reyes stepped forward and grabbed him by the elbow. Scott whipped around, staring at him incredulously.

“Please, just talk to me Scott,” Reyes said, flushing at the note of desperation in his voice. The Charlatan didn’t plead. “I deserve that much.”

“We have nothing to talk about, Reyes. That’s what Keema’s for, right? Now let go of me and stop causing a scene,” Scott hissed under his breath, blue eyes flashing angrily. Reyes glared back, but did as asked, abruptly aware that people were scrutinizing their actions with curiosity; some with outright hostility. How dare he, exile scum, touch their precious, human Pathfinder?

When Scott walked away once more, Reyes made no further attempt to stop him.

_Fine, just leave you judgmental prick. You know deep down that you’re no better than me. Not at all._

Scott’s dismissal brought the ugly, cancerous feelings of betrayal and regret he’d been fighting to the surface again. It was what he deserved though, for allowing himself to be blinded by a pretty face; for foolishly hoping that things could be different. He was the Charlatan; he had much more important things to worry about than being rejected by some uppity, N7's brat. He knocked back the rest of his drink with a grimace and went in search of his men. It was time to get off this shithole.

 

***

 

The trip back to Kadara was long and tedious, and Reyes's brief encounter with Scott played repeatedly in his head. He thought over all the insults he should have thrown at him, each one nastier and more cutting than the last. Reyes' foul mood was only exacerbated as, along the way, he steadily drained the bottle of whiskey he’d snatched before leaving the Nexus. 

It had been idiotic to think that his involvement in saving the Meridian would alter Scott’s opinion of him. He hadn’t imagined anything as dramatic as Scott falling into his arms and confessing his undying love, but he _had_ expected to be treated with at least a modicum respect. He’d stuck his neck out, putting his life on the line in the process, and Scott hadn’t seemed to care at all. Reyes had clearly been overestimating the strength of Scott’s feelings for him, and publicly made a fool of himself in the process. He couldn’t afford more slip-ups like that.

When the shuttle finally touched down in the slums, he carelessly dropped the now empty bottle of whiskey to the floor—it hit landed with a _clink_ and rolled dejectedly under a seat. He staggered off the shuttle, leaving his men to take care of it as he tried to contact Keema from his omni-tool, fingers clumsy from the drink. She wasn’t responding, which was unusual for her, but if the sounds of celebration issuing from Tartarus—managing to rise even above the ear splitting music—were any indication, she was probably likewise occupied at the Collective’s headquarters.

Reyes’ feet carried him the opposite direction of the party. All he wanted was to be alone; stew in his emotions privately for a bit then get back to business as usual tomorrow. He walked unsteadily to his apartment, lost in thought, head swimming from the alcohol. He hadn’t been this thoroughly intoxicated in years, and now he remembered why as his stomach roiled with nausea.

He climbed the rusting stairs to his apartment with an excessively careful tread, overtaken by dizziness. He managed to make it to his door without toppling backwards and typed in his pass code with fumbling fingers. He leaned heavily against the door when it slid shut, breathing deeply as the room spun. “Fuck! Lights, 50 percent,” he slurred, squinting against the sudden glare as he stumbled to his bedroom. He stripped out of his armor along the way, leaving it strewn across the floor with uncharacteristic carelessness.

Just as he was about to fall gratefully into bed still fully clothed, he paused, noticing something odd out of the corner of his eye. The datapad he used primarily for recreational purposes had moved from the right side of his bedside table to the left. It was something so infinitesimal, it was more than likely a case of him misremembering where he’d put it, especially in his drunken state.

Even so, he paused—one knee on the bed and one foot planted on the floor—holding his breath, ears straining for the smallest noise. Very faintly he heard what sounded like a foot scuffing on the floor from somewhere inside his apartment. He wasn’t alone.

Reyes leaned down and slipped open his bedside table drawer soundlessly, reaching for the pistol he kept taped beneath it. His fingers met nothing but the cold metal underside of the drawer and a leftover piece of tape that swayed sadly against his questing fingers. His heart thumped painfully fast now, alcohol-addled brain struggling to keep up with this turn of events. He peered into the living room where his discarded holster lay, rifle gleaming faintly in the light alongside his omni-tool; mocking him.

Slipping off the bed, he crept to the doorframe and crouched down, listening intently. When he heard nothing further he steeled himself and began counting down in his head.

_Three..._

_Two..._

_One!_

He sprang into action, diving into the room and lunging for his weapon; not fast enough.

A tall, dark form stepped directly into his path. He tried to dart around it, but a large, taloned foot kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him reeling to the floor, breath punched out. Peering up at his assailant dazedly, he met the barrel of an assault rifle, aimed casually at his head.

“Hands up, _Charlatan_ ,” Kaetus said with an admirable amount of contempt on his title. There were half-healed wounds on the turian's face, and he wore mismatched bits of armor, some of it rusting in places. A bloodcurdling amount of hatred shone out of his beady eyes.

Reyes reluctantly did as ordered, panting, head pounding. He tried to keep his eyes trained on Kaetus, but his stomach lurched and he leaned over to vomit on the floor between them.

Kaetus let out a disgusted noise, but didn’t move.

When Reyes was done, he looked up at Kaetus, trying not to betray his fear. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his mind struggled to think of a way out of this situation. “Excuse the mess. It’s been a rather long day,” he rasped, trying to stall for time. “Is there something I can do for you? I must say, it doesn’t appear as though freedom has treated you well.”

Kaetus looked distinctly unimpressed. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, _coward_ ,” he spat.

Reyes scoffed. “That’s rich coming from the person threatening an unarmed man.”

Kateus snarled and lowered his gun. A bullet ripped through Reyes’ leg with searing, shocking pain. He couldn’t prevent the grunt that tore from his throat. He fell on his side shaking violently, vomiting helplessly again. He pressed his hands to hole in his leg, gushing blood.

“If you’re planning on killing me,” he gasped weakly, “just get it over with. No need to delay the inevitable.”

Kaetus snorted, mandibles flapping, watching with satisfaction as Reyes writhed on the floor. “Believe me, there are few things I’d love more. But you’re still of use to us.”

Kaetus lifted the gun and Reyes could only clench his eyes shut as the butt of the rifle smacked heavily into the side of his head, rendering him unconscious.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta, so please don't judge too harshly. :)


End file.
